Jungkook sat on the cold wooden bench by the riverbank, his hands resting limply in his lap as he gazed at the water before him. The river’s surface glimmered under the scattered reflections of streetlights, the gentle ripples distorting the light into fleeting patterns. His mind was quiet, though not at peace, the silence around him offering a strange kind of solace.
The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel path behind him broke his reverie, but Jungkook didn’t turn. He already knew who it was. His gaze lingered on the shimmering light, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths.
“You can go back, Hobi hyung,” Jungkook said softly, his voice devoid of emotion. “You don’t have to escort me everywhere. You’re off duty.”
There was a pause before Hobi responded, “It’s not about duty, Jungkook. I’ll follow you wherever you go. You know that.”
Jungkook pressed his lips together, a faint scoff escaping him. He glanced down at his hands, turning them over to inspect his perfectly manicured nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.
“There are around seventy-five missed calls from Sir on your phone,” Hobi said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.
Jungkook’s jaw tightened, and he tilted his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on his hands. “Switch off that thing,” he replied flatly, his tone carrying a hint of exhaustion.
Hobi sighed deeply, shifting his weight as he tucked his hands into his coat pockets. He stood a few feet behind Jungkook, his eyes scanning the younger one's profile - the flawless skin, the soft curve of his nose, and those doe eyes that could make anyone lose themselves.
Nobody could be blamed for wanting him. Jungkook was a rare beauty, the kind that inspired poetry and war alike. His elegance wasn’t just in his appearance but in the way he carried himself, even now, sitting by the river like a portrait painted by the night itself.
Hobi took a step closer but stopped, respecting the invisible boundary Jungkook had drawn. “Jungkook…” he began, his voice laced with concern, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. What could he say that hadn’t already been said?
Jungkook let out a slow exhale, finally turning his head slightly to glance at Hobi. His eyes were unreadable, a mix of defiance and vulnerability swirling within them. “Go home, hyung,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost pleading.
Hobi didn’t move, his loyalty unwavering. Instead, he simply stood there, a quiet guardian in the night, watching over Jungkook as the city lights danced on the river.
The silence stretched, broken only by the distant hum of the city and the occasional crackle of the fireworks overhead.
Jungkook flinched as another burst of light illuminated the sky, silver glitters scattering like stars. He tilted his head upward, watching as another firework followed, this time a vivid red. The next one startled him more, not because of its brilliance, but because of the words it painted in golden letters against the night sky:
"Sorry."
Jungkook sighed, dropping his gaze back to the ground. His expression hardened, and he turned his head to look at Hobi. “You told him I’m here, didn’t you?”
Hobi shook his head, his lips curving into a sheepish smile as he scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t, Jungkook,” he replied, his voice cautious. “But… don’t think I’m interfering in your personal life, okay?”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow, sensing where this was headed.
“I just… I mean, why not, Suga sir?” Hobi asked hesitantly, his tone laden with concern.
